


CS College AU

by Annaelle



Series: College AU [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: College AU, Emma's a bit slutty in the beginning, Lots of Sex, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CS college AU-Captain Swan endgame, but with (explicit) mentions of Walsh/Emma, implied Tink/Killian. Rated M for swearing and explicit sexual content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Damn,” Walsh chuckled as he rolled off of her, slowly slipping out of her with a soft, suctioning sound that made her flinch a little, “Now, I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but I’m glad you finally dumped sailor boy and came to your senses.” He leers at her, rubbing his thumb over her nipple before leaning down to press a kiss to her neck.

Emma winced, tossing an arm over her eyes and sighing heavily. She was sore, and she felt used and it was exactly what she should feel like after a six-hour sex-marathon with Walsh.

It had been a while since she’d last had sex with Walsh—for obvious reasons—but he was good, and he could go for hours, and she knew Killian hated him and vice versa and that was why it was _perfect_.

She’d known Killian since last year, when they met in their English Literature class. She’d just taken the class because she needed to add _something_ to add to her curriculum, and it had seemed easy enough. They’d been partnered up for a project, and he’d been charming and snarky and refused to back off until she would go on a date with him—and after a decent amount of grumbling and whining, she agreed.

It had been a good date.

They’d stayed friends (with a lot of benefits) for a few months after, because Emma didn’t want a relationship—it terrified her, and even though she knew he was slowly falling in love with her, she kept pushing him away—until he’d asked her out again, simply refusing to take no for an answer.

That date had been really good—romantic, original, the works—but not very long.

They really sucked at keeping their hands off each other.

.

.

.

_“Hmm...” she purred in satisfaction as his fingertips slid up and down her back, teasing her sensitive skin. She rested her head on his chest, allowing herself to drift off slightly, comforted by the slow, steady beat of his heart, as his fingers teased the skin on the back of her neck, massaging the skin around the dark hickey he’d left gently, while they both waited for her to start scolding him about it._

_The mark she had left on him was irrelevant, in her opinion_ — _Killian had laughed at her when she pouted and expressed her desire to visibly mark him as hers; or at least to mark him so he’d remember where she’d been._

_He’d just kissed her senseless and told her he was never going to let her go—and none of the other girls he’d ever been with got to say that, so in his opinion, it really didn’t matter._

_Granted, she did not like his high number of ex-lovers_ — _not that she had much room to complain; her number rivalled his—but she did appreciate what he was trying to tell her._

_And she did like him._

_A lot._

_She pressed a kiss to his chest and smiled at his soft, satisfied sigh. “What does this actually mean?” She muttered softly, after a short, comfortable, lazy silence. “What do you want it to mean, darling?”  His chest rumbled against her ear when he spoke and she giggled at the vibrations._

_She felt ludicrously happy, and all he’d done was give her an orgasm—given, it was multiple, and it was really, really good, but still…_

_“All of this,” she said, propping her chin up on his chest to look into his eyes—she really does love his eyes—, “The overly romantic date, the sex, all of it. What do you want this to be?”_

_Killian sighed and bit his lip slowly, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips—but there was something in his eyes that threw her; apprehension?_

_Fear?_

_“I would like,” he finally said, “to see what we can be. You know I love you, Swan.”_

_She was stunned for a moment; did that mean that he wasn’t just trying to get into her pants? “Are you for real?” she whispered softly, unsure how to… Well, how to go about this._

_The only guy she’d ever_ really _dated was Neal, and she refuses to let that bad memory taint a really, really good night—Killian was smart, hot, and a beast in bed._

_She refuses to let her insecurities over Neal’s cheating and leaving her ruin this too._

_She’s done sabotaging herself, damn it._

_“Of course,” he shrugged, “I thought I’d made that clear already. I want to be with you, love—the ball’s in your court.” Killian bit his lip again and sat up against the headboard_ — _clearly that was the thing he was most apprehensive of; he only bit his lip when he really didn’t know what to do with the situation at hand._

_He was silent for a moment before he looked up at her; the full impact of his dazzling blue eyes hitting her all at once; and whispered, “Would it be that bad? If we gave_ us _a try?”_

_The vulnerability in his voice nearly killed Emma_ — _she cursed herself once again for not allowing herself to give into Killian earlier; because she had pushed him away time and again, he had himself convinced that she was going to change her mind any second; and she couldn’t blame him._

_She was the one reminding him they really weren’t anything more than fuckbuddies every time he tried to open up to her or get her to open up to him._

_It had made so much sense at the time; she wasn’t ready to give in; to be completely swept away by Killian’s love; so she had clung to being with him when she felt like it and going out and fucking other random guys when he came too close as though it was the last lifejacket on Titanic_ — _and in a way, that was what they had been for her_ — _a lifejacket; a way to find her way back to who she used to be._

_Before Neal._

_So, slowly, she crawled up into Killian’s lap, her arms wrapping around his neck while his hands fell to her hips, and pressed her lips to his in a soft, short, sweet kiss._

_“Of course it wouldn’t be a bad thing,” she whispered against his lips, “I just—” she leans her forehead to his and shrugs a little, “I’m not good at this, Killian, you know that.”  He smiled against her lips, before pressing their lips together once again, flipping her onto her back as he left strategically placed kisses down her torso._

_“I’ll take great pleasure,” he breathed, smirking devilishly at her, “in teaching you then.” Right before he disappeared beneath the sheets. The first tingles of his amorous and very intimate kisses started to hit her instantly_ — _she managed to choke out his name before he catapulted her body into oblivion once again._

.

.

.

They’d been together ever since.

At least until last night.

Emma huffed again when she thought about it, rolling her eyes at herself—she really should have known that Killian would turn out to be no better than Neal.

.

.

.

_Emma pouted, shaking her head at herself when she pushed the door to Killian’s apartment open —it was really pathetic, she_ knew _he wasn’t here, he’d be in Washington with his brother until Monday, but she missed him, and she figured sleeping in his bed might actually help._

_She almost wished they’d moved in together already, but since graduation was still two weeks away, she’d have to wait a little longer._

_She rubbed her hand over her belly nervously and sighed—and she wanted,_ needed _, to feel close to him right now. With a sigh, she dropped her overnight bag, halfway out of her jacket when she heard a moan and froze—a_ female _moan._

‘You’re wrong, Emma,’ _she told herself as she followed the moaning towards the guest bedroom, noting briefly that the shower was running too,_ ‘Whatever’s going on, it’s not that, Killian wouldn’t—’

_Whatever the end of that sentence would have been, she didn’t remember. She stood frozen just outside the room as she watched the small, curvy blonde on the bed push her fingers in and out of herself, moaning loudly as she did._

_“Come on, Irish,” the girl groaned loudly as she added another finger into her dripping pussy—Emma wanted to stop watching, she really did, but she was frozen, horror-struck, unable to tear her eyes away—, “I’m about to finish without you. I haven’t fucked you in two days, I need that dick of yours in me, now.”_

_Emma choked soundlessly when an all-too-familiar chuckle came from the bathroom, his voice sounding slightly distorted through the sound of the shower, “Patience, woman. You know I loathe airplane germs. I prefer being clean before I fuck you.”_

_A tear rolled down Emma’s cheek, and she could finally move again, stumbling out of the apartment as fast as she could manage, barely remembering to grab her bag as she ran out the door._

_She barely made it back to her own building before collapsing against the wall, hysterical sobs tearing through her chest._

_He cheated on her._

_He told her he’d be gone the entire weekend so he could bring in some slutty undergrad and_ cheat _on her without her ever finding out._

_He made her_ fall in love _with him and then just turned around and cheated on her._

_He got her_ pregnant _and_ cheated.

_After a long, long time, she managed to get herself together, scolding herself for allowing a guy to get close enough to her to hurt her like this, to break her heart—she should have known better, after Neal, after everything._

_She wiped away her tears angrily and stood up, running her fingers through her hair—there’s a party in her and Ruby’s place (one of the prime reasons she went to Killian’s in the first place; a positive pregnancy test two weeks before she’d graduate with a master’s degree in criminal justice did not leave her in a partying mood) and she refused to be seen with red, bloodshot eyes._

_She sighed a little at the obnoxiously loud music playing in the apartment before pushing the door open, shoving her way through the throngs of dancing people until she reached the safe haven of her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her._

_She wanted to do something._

_She wanted to get back at Killian—son of a bitch._

_“Hello sexy,” a deep voice purred behind her, and her skin broke into goose bumps when his arms slid around her waist, a muscled male body pressing against her back, his arousal pushing against her bottom._

_She grinned wickedly, turning around and sliding her arms around his neck. “Hello Walsh.”_

.

.

.

She really had been better off with a string of one nightstands and no-strings-attached fuckbuddies.

“Yeah,” she chuckles roughly, “I really don’t want to talk, Walsh.” She glances at his naked body furtively, pouting a little. He really had lost all his appeal after  her last orgasm. “You should leave,” she adds, pushing his hand off her breast disinterestedly.

She sits up, shakes out her curls and gets up, slipping her large sleep shirt over her head, ignoring Walsh’s feeble protests.

A small pang of nausea hits her, and she groans quietly when the doorbell rings, rubbing her hand over her forehead tiredly. Really, after being up for seventeen hours, six of which spent doing very intense physical exercise, she really just wants to kick Walsh out, change her sheets and sleep for a week. 

“Stay, please,” she ordered Walsh, “And do not talk.”

She stomped out of the bedroom, dodging stray cups and garbage as she made her way to the front door, opening it with a graceful, “What?!”

“I missed you too, love,” Killian smirked, leaning against the doorframe—Emma’s eyes went wide with shock, before anger and hurt set in again. “What are you doing here?” She all but hissed, narrowing her eyes at him.

How the hell dare he show up and pretend like he hadn’t been cheating on her?

He raised an eyebrow at her and leaned in, “We got home two days early, and I missed you, love—I would have come by last night, but Liam and Tink wanted a tour of the town, I needed to go grocery shopping and I knew Ruby and you planned the party, so…” He shrugged a little and smiled that charming smile she had loved so much.

And then his words register.

Liam and Tink.

His brother and his soon-to-be sister-in-law.

The nausea she already felt doubled as her stomach turned over, guilt slamming into her at full-force.

_Oh dear God, no._

“Tink,” she frowned a little, smiling tightly, “your brother’s fiancée?”

“Aye,” Killian nodded, “I did tell you they’d be coming back with me, didn’t I? Liam’s very eager to meet you,” he chuckled, “I do believe Tink is as well, but she’s always excited and perky about everything, so I cannot really tell the difference.”

“Right,” she choked, “the pretty blonde one—you told me. She has your brother wrapped around her pinkie finger?”

“That very one,” Killian smiled, before moving, catching her hand to tug her into his arms, his lips suddenly pressing against hers.

She startled for a second, before immediately kissing him back—she couldn’t let him know something was wrong; she couldn’t let him know how _stupid_ she had been.

She’d lose him, and she’d deserve it, but she _needed_ him.

_‘What am I going to do?’_ She groaned internally, trying not to wince when the kiss grew more heated, and his hand slid down her back to her bottom—she wasn’t wearing panties and she could feel Walsh’s release slowly sliding down her thigh and _shit_.

She pushed him back slowly and offered him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I’m just really hung over and tired…” She ran her fingers through her hair and asked, “Do you think we could meet for dinner at that place at the harbour instead?”

He pouted sympathetically and nodded, stroking her hair softly. “Of course, love. Are you certain you do not wish for me to stay?”

“Nah,” she smiled tightly, “I’m just gonna take a shower and crash until it’s time for dinner.” She rubbed her thumb over his cheek nervously and added, “Go spend time with your brother. I know you miss him.”

“Alright love,” he leaned in to kiss her again, “I’ll be but a phone call away if you need anything, Emma.”

She nodded quickly, desperately attempting to keep her emotions in check until she could kick both Killian and Walsh out of the apartment, preferably without the both of them running into each other. “Yeah, I know. I’ll see you later, okay?” She lets him kiss her one more time before practically shoving him out the door, slamming it shut behind him and leaning back against it.

“Oh God,” she moaned quietly, “What did I do?”

Walsh strolled out of her bedroom casually, his button-down shirt hanging open as he lazily buttoned his jeans. “Well, you did me,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow at her, “And I’m assuming pretty boy doesn’t know.”

“Look,” Emma spit, shaking her head, “I was drunk and angry and stupid, and you were there—it never happened, okay?”

Walsh chuckled, closing in on her until her back is pressed against the door, his body plastered against her front. “You’ll come running back,” he breathed against her lips, “You always do.”

She shoved him away angrily. “No, I won’t,” she insisted, opening the door and raising an eyebrow at him, “Now get the fuck out.”

“Emma?”

She froze, her eyes widening in panic as she watched Walsh’s insufferable smirk grow. “Killian,” she breathed, turning around to face her boyfriend, who was looking between her and Walsh with something akin to disbelief, anger and utter heartbreak.

“This isn’t—” she stuttered, glancing between the two men, “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“What does it look like?” Killian spit, his eyes blazing with anger, “Like you fucked the first man that came along the second I turned my back?” Emma winced—essentially, that _was_ what she did, no matter what her reasons were at the time—shaking her head desperately. “No, Killian, I—it’s not…”

“Well, this is lovely,” Walsh drawled boredly, “but I have places to be, so I’ll be leaving.” He winked at Emma and intentionally slammed his shoulder into Killian’s when he pushed past him, leaving Emma to deal with the mess she’d created.

“You _cheated_ on me?” Killian questioned, his voice breaking in the middle of his sentence—Emma felt sick to the stomach at the look on his face, knowing _she_ put it there; knowing there was nothing she could do to make up for this, for betraying him, for not trusting him—for not trusting _them_.

“No, I—” she choked, tears burning in her eyes (damn those stupid hormones that made her overreact about everything), “I—it didn’t…”

“You didn’t _what_ , Emma?” Killian exclaimed angrily, slamming his fist into the doorframe, “You didn’t sleep with him?” His eyes were wide and angry, but she could see the hurt too, and it made her feel even worse than she already did.

“No, I…” She swallowed thickly, “I thought you—I walked in on Tink and Liam yesterday. And I thought it was you, in the shower, not Liam. So, when I came home, Walsh was there and I just…” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she shook her head, “I’m _so_ sorry, I just didn’t… I was so scared and hurt and I overreacted.”

She was too scared to look up at him, unable to face the heartbreak she _knew_ she inflicted, too damn terrified to face the consequences of her own insecurities.

“That’s just great,” Killian sighed, shaking his head, “Well, I’m glad to know how you really feel about _us_ before this got any further.” Emma winced at the harsh, cold note in his voice, finally looking up at him, reaching for his hand desperately. “Killian, I’m _so_ sorry. I didn’t mean to—I thought—”

“Yeah,” Killian said bitterly, “I got that. I’m going to… I’m going to go.” He pulled his hand from hers rather forcefully, “I think it’s best if we do not see each other for some time.”

“What?” Emma choked, tears rolling down her cheeks, “No, Killian—we’re not… I love you.” It was a rather pathetic plea, and she knew it, but she needed him to know, she needed _him_.

Killian looked down, shuffling awkwardly. “Aye, and I you, but—” he bit his lip as he looked up at her, the hurt in his beautiful blue eyes nearly breaking her, “—I cannot simply get over this, Emma. Clearly, you do not trust me at all, and I can’t… I don’t think we should be together if there is no trust between us.”

He shook his head and offered her a tiny smile, “I’m sorry, love, but I can’t… I can’t just let this go.” Without another word, he turned around, freezing at the top of the stairs when she called out to him once again.

“Killian, I’m really sorry,” she whispered, clutching the doorframe to stay upright.

“Aye,” he breathed, closing his eyes briefly, “As am I.”

And, no matter how it pained him to do so, he walked away without looking back.

.

.

.

_Two months later_

Emma fidgeted nervously as she studied the many posters on the walls, waiting for the doctor to finally call out her name. It was her first ultrasound appointment, and though she _had_ told Ruby to tell Killian of her pregnancy and the date of the appointment, he wasn’t here.

She hadn’t seen him since the day he caught her with Walsh, if she didn’t count the brief glimpse she’d caught of him the day they graduated.

She hadn’t spoken to him directly either, but she knew he was asking Ruby about her, and eventually, she realized she couldn’t keep the pregnancy from him any longer without him finding out—she was starting to show, and people were already speculating whether or not she was pregnant and who the father was.

She knew it was Killian, and she knew he knew as well, and she really hoped that he wouldn’t shun the baby because he was angry with her.

“Emma Swan?”

She jumped when her name was called, looking up at a friendly, red-headed nurse with a comforting smile. “Dr. Whale can see you now,” she offered, gesturing towards the door.

“Thanks,” Emma smiled weakly, getting to her feet clumsily, casting one more furtive glance towards the door, willing him to walk through so they can look at their baby together, so he could hold her hand when she’d cry.

Of course, life didn’t work that way.

She broke his heart, and she had to pay the price.

She bit her lip and moved to the examination room, unable to focus on anything the doctor was telling her. She moved as though in a haze, wiggling to get comfortable on top of the examination table, rolling her shirt up to expose her slightly swollen stomach.

“So,” Dr. Whale checked the chart, “You’re a little over three months along?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, looking up at the ceiling blankly, “thirteen weeks, I think.” Whale nods and writes something down on the chart before setting it down and smiling at her. “Well, since your almost out of your first trimester, you should get sick less and less, though some women have it throughout the entire pregnancy.”

“Okay,” Emma sighed, glancing down at her belly and wondering how the hell she was going to be able to do this on her own.

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” Whale smiled at her, lathering her stomach with the cold gel, moving the wand towards her stomach as the door burst open and Killian stumbled in. Emma choked a little at the sight of him standing frozen in the doorway, his fingers clenched around the cutest little teddy bear she’d ever seen, his eyes a little red-rimmed and his mouth hanging open a little.

“I’m sorry,” Whale started, “This is a privat—”

“No,” Emma shook her head, “No, it’s okay. He’s the… He’s the father.”

Whale looked between them suspiciously before nodding and gesturing impatiently. “Well, come in then, close the door and let’s have a look at your baby.”

Emma couldn’t look at anything but Killian though, and not even the promise of seeing their baby on the small screen could make her tear her eyes from Killian’s as he took a seat next to the examination table, both hands clenching around the small teddy bear he’d brought.

“Hi,” she whispered as Whale went on and on about how big the baby was and that it looked healthy.

“Hey,” he breathed back, his voice gruff and his accent thicker than usual, like it always was when he was particularly emotional. “I’m sorry I was late, I couldn’t find a bloody parking spot.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she offered softly, “I know you didn’t have to be, but I’m really glad you are.”

“Of course I had to be here,” he grumbled, “that,” he nodded towards the small screen, “is _my_ baby too, Emma.” She bit her lip and smiled tightly, before turning to look at her baby for the first time.

She gasped, and tears welled up in her eyes as she took in the sight. “He looks like a baby already,” she whispered, her hand instinctively grabbing at Killian’s, her teary eyes seeking his. “That’s our baby.”

“Aye,” he genuinely smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her forehead, “Aye, it is.”

She raised a trembling hand to touch his scruffy cheek, rubbing her thumb over his skin gently, “I’m sorry,” she apologized again, looking him straight, “I’m so sorry. And I love you, so much.”

“I know,” he whispered back, dropping his forehead to hers, “I know.”

Whale shifted uncomfortably before clearing his throat and handing Emma a tissue to wipe the sticky goo of her stomach. “Would you like me to print a few pictures?” He offered, looking between the young parents.

“Yeah,” Emma said slowly, “Can you print like…” she glanced toward Killian, “Ten?”

“Sure,” Whale smiled, “I’ll be right back.”

Emma wiped off her stomach and rolled her shirt down, the silence in the room growing uncomfortable and painful. Finally, she mustered enough courage to look at Killian and choked, “We need to talk, don’t we?”

“Aye,” Killian nodded tiredly, “Aye, we do.”

.

.

.

“So… How are you?” Emma asked awkwardly, playing with one of the ultrasound pictures as he collapsed onto the large armchair in the corner.

He gave her a wry smile and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m… _alright_.” He smiled tightly and played with the teddy bear he still hadn’t let go off, “Got offered a good job, so the apartment isn’t too expensive to pay by myself.”

She winced at the subtle dig—she knew he couldn’t afford the apartment by himself, and they’d only picked it and signed the lease so soon because it was close enough to the harbor for Killian to get to work on foot every day and also close enough to the city so she wouldn’t have to drive an hour every day to get to work either.

It was worth the money.

“Oh,” she muttered awkwardly, “well, that’s great. Is it still in the harbor?”

He shook his head, smiling awkwardly, “No. It’s with my brother’s company—they needed someone with experience to lead the helpdesk department, and the money’s fair, so…” He shrugged and smiled.

They fell silent again and Emma hated every single second of it—they never used to be awkward and even when they were angry, they always knew what to say to one another. “What are we going to do?” She finally asked, looking up from the picture, “about us, about the baby.”

She bit her lip and set the picture down. “What do you want to do?”

 Killian sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know, Emma,” he said slowly, “I don’t know what to do about any of this.”

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?” She asked softly, biting her lip harshly.

“I already forgave you, Emma,” he admitted, “I did almost right away. I was— _am_ —hurt, but I understood your reasons, as messed up and stupid as they might have been.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees before looking at her. “I love you. I always have, always will, but…” he sighed again and choked, “I don’t _trust_ you anymore, Emma. And I don’t know how to be with you without trusting you.”

Emma swallowed thickly, nodding slowly. “I know. And I’m really sorry I made you feel like that. I just…” She shrugged, “I want to earn your trust again. I don’t want to lose you—that’s why I freaked out so much when I thought you’d lied and cheated. I _knew_ I couldn’t be in a relationship like that again, but I _needed_ you so much it scared the hell out of me…”

“What about now?” He asked, his voice a little harder and guarded, “How do I know you won’t just do the same thing all over again next time?” Emma offered him a small, weak smile and rubbed her hand over her small baby bump. “Because it’s not just me anymore.”

“Okay,” he nodded after a long, tense pause, “Okay. We’ll try.”

She smiled brilliantly, her heart skipping a beat at his own, breathtaking smile.

Yes.

She was done running and overreacting.

They could do this.

.

.

.

Two weeks later, they shared their ‘second’ first kiss.

.

.

.

Emma lasted a month before her hormones took over and she literally dragged him into her bedroom to have her way with him.

.

.

.

Six months later, she moved in with him in the apartment they chose together.

.

.

.

And nine months later Emma gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, named Lukas Henry Jones. Killian proposed the second Lukas was in their arms and they were alone in the hospital room.

.

.

.

Their second son was named after his uncle Liam.

.

.

.

It might not be perfect and their wasn’t always easy—they were both stubborn and temperamental and fought a lot—but it was a happy ending nonetheless.

It might not be fairytale worthy, but it was theirs.

It was real, and that was all that mattered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prequel to the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this, Emma learns that she needs to stop playing around with her own and Killian's feelings or she's going to lose Killian completely. Very explicit MonkeySwan (or WizardSwan, whatever the hell their shipname is) and MadSwan, but Captain Swan endgame!

Emma moaned loudly, clenching her inner muscles around his length as he moved inside of her, digging her fingernails into his back as he roughly fucked her against the wall. “Harder,” she ordered him, tightening her legs around his waist, “Fuck, Walsh, I’m going to— _ah_ —be— _oh_ _God_ —late— _fuck_.”

She wasn’t all too fond of having sex in the public bathrooms at the university, but she’d had an argument with Killian earlier, and he’d been all uppity and high and mighty and _right_ and she just needed to take her mind off things—hence Walsh’s involvement.

He was a good fuck, always had been, and he knew the rules.

No attachment, no hickies, no dates—just lots of good sex.

He was also one of the two only men she had sex with without wearing a condom—sure, she was on the pill, but when she had sex, she always wore a condom, unless it was Walsh (who was even more uptight about his health than she was) or Killian (because… Well, he was only sleeping with her and she knew she was clean).

It just felt so much better without a condom, and since she took enough other precautions, she found no reason to diminish her own—or their—pleasure by wearing a condom.

“Fuck, Emma,” he groaned in her ear, rubbing his thumb over her clit insistently, “Fuck, so good.”

She cried out when she fell apart, relishing in the feel of Walsh coming inside of her, his hips slowing to a slow stop as he tried to prolong both their orgasms. She hummed contently and leaned back against the wall as he slipped out of her, wiping himself off with some toilet paper, watching her intently.

“So, you tired of sailor boy yet?”

Emma nearly rolled her eyes at him—Walsh hated Killian; whether because Killian replaced him as her go-to fuck buddy or because he genuinely didn’t like him, she didn’t know; and took every opportunity he could to try to make her hate Killian too.

His best attempts usually happened while he was fucking her—it was a serious mood killer though, and he’d long since learned not to bring it up until _after_ they’d both had their orgasms.

“You know I’m not getting _tired_ of him, Walsh,” she grumbled, “He’s my friend.”

“Hmpf,” Walsh grumbled, grabbing her leg and propping it up on the counter, spreading her wide open before him, “Some friend—do you come over to fuck me every time you have a disagreement with a _friend_?” Before she could answer him, he ducked his head between her legs again and pushed a finger into her still wet, hot pussy.

She moaned quietly at the touch and rested her head back against the wall, while thoughts flutter inside her mind, as evasive and fleeting as butterflies fluttering in the summer air. “Oh,” she moaned, “I—oh, God,” she moved her hips desperately when he added another finger and his tongue to the mix, “That’s not the _point_ ,” she managed to choke, feeling herself tighten around his fingers already.

Her eyes rolled back into her head when he added another finger, spreading her open wide and sucking at her clit harshly—and she was gone, crying out his name as she came again. In the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware that things probably wouldn’t end to well for them if they were caught now—what with his fingers and tongue still inside and on her, her skirt rolled halfway up her stomach, her top and bra pulled down to reveal her breasts and his jeans still around his ankles—but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

He’d made her cum four times in the last hour, and she hadn’t once stopped to think about Killian and whatever _feelings_ she may have been developing for him, and that was exactly why she picked him for the day.

He knew her sweet spots and how to get her off, and that was all she really wanted right now.

“There,” Walsh grinned, pulling his fingers from her and licking them one by one, “think about that next time you talk to your lovely sailor—think about how _I_ was in you, how _I_ made you come, Swan.” He pressed one more kiss to her clit before he stood up, pulling his jeans up and fastening it.

She was still leaning against the wall, slightly breathless when he winked and smirked at her as he left the bathroom. Softly cursing under her breath, she began to dress again, pulling her shirt and bra back in place over her sensitive nipples, wincing as she pulled her underwear back on and her skirt down, briefly wondering if anyone heard her and Walsh in here—they’d been in there for the better part of an hour, and they hadn’t exactly been quiet.

She wondered if Killian had heard them.

The mere thought of it made her feel nauseated and she shook her head at herself—she wasn’t supposed to think about him.

She wasn’t supposed to let him make her feel bad anymore—she wasn’t supposed to let him _weaken_ her by making her want to care for him and love him. She sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her hair, furtively attempting to make it look less just-fucked, but it was a lost cause.

She _had_ been thoroughly fucked, and she looked it too.

She felt it.

She was sore and tired, and sated and she loved the high for as long as it lasted.

“Which wasn’t very long,” she grumbled to herself, pushing  the door open and running straight into the man she’d been trying to avoid to begin with.

“Killian,” she breathed, “what are you doing here?”

He raised one—infuriating—eyebrow and deadpans, “What one usually does in a lavatory, love. And I assure you,” his eyes darkened and _shit, he knows, fuck,_ “It is not what you and whatever other boy toy you snared up were doing.”

Her blood boiled at the thinly veiled implication—didn’t matter if it was true or not—and she glared at him, poking her finger into his chest angrily. “What I was or wasn’t doing in there isn’t any of your business, Jones,” she spit, “We—” she gestured between the two of them impatiently, “aren’t dating, aren’t exclusive—we aren’t _anything_. We fuck occasionally; don’t make a bigger deal out of it.”

She knew it was the wrong thing to say the _second_ the words fell from her lips, but it was too late to take them back, and honestly, she didn’t want to—he was ruining everything.

They were supposed to be having fun, no strings attached, no feelings—but he broke that rule and she _couldn’t_.

She couldn’t let him know how he was affecting her.

He would just leave, eventually, no matter what he said and no matter what he did; they always left.

“Of course,” Killian said blankly, the blatant emotionless tone shocking her slightly, “Wouldn’t want to presume our friendship means anything to you at all, would I?” She just stared at him, her stomach churning uncomfortably, unable to find the bravado she’d felt earlier.

“If there’s no more to be said,” Killian continued, his eyes hard and cold, “I’d prefer our relationship to be ended—presuming that there was one to begin with,” he added mockingly, “It was nice to have made your acquaintance, Miss Swan.” And before she could protest or apologize, he pushed past her, leaving her standing in the hallway, wondering if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

.

.

.

**Two weeks later**

She didn’t care about the concerned look in Ruby’s eyes when she led the guy—Jefferson, she thought his name was—into her bedroom, unbuttoning her shirt as she walked. She wasn’t upset about Killian anymore; she _wasn’t_ , she refused to be.

So what if he started dating that new exchange student girl?

Why would she care?

It was his loss, honestly—Emma was sure Milah wouldn’t be nearly as good with him as she was, and he’d miss her, and he’d come crawling back to her eventually.

So she’d go back to one nightstands more than having a regular fuck buddy for a while.

She’d survive.

It was hotter to have sex with someone knowing you probably wouldn’t see them again—knowing that one night was all you were going to get, and that you needed to wring every bit of pleasure and passion from the other.

She didn’t let him—Jeff, right?—kiss her and just shoved him down on the bed, licking her lips eagerly when his already unbuttoned jeans dropped to his knees with the movement, exposing the swollen flesh of his cock to her eyes.

She was eager, and she was horny, and it was not until she sunk down on top of him, taking him deep inside of her, that a pang of regret hit her. He felt good, and she moved with him eagerly, pushing her breasts into his hands and rolling her hips against his, moaning his name as he hit _that_ spot inside of her, but in her mind, she had to remind herself not to chant Killian’s name, to not think about how Jeff didn’t feel _right_ inside of her like Killian did, to not consider how they didn’t _fit_ like she did with Killian.

She shoved the idea that Killian might be doing this exact same thing with Milah aside forcefully, allowing Jeff to roll them over, hitching her leg higher up his waist as he pounded into her, grunting and moaning—when he finally made her come, she had to consciously stop herself from crying out Killian’s name, and though the sex had been good, the high dissipated almost immediately.

She blinked up at the ceiling tiredly as Jeff moved around her room and got dressed again, ignoring his attempts to ask her out on a date until he left the room.

All she could think about was that she felt disgusting and that she missed Killian and that she was _stupid_ to allow herself to _need_ him the way she did. He was dating someone else—clearly he’d moved on and she _hated_ that, because it was her own fault.

She pushed him and pushed him until he couldn’t take anymore.

She beat herself up about how badly she screwed up. She took the only good thing that had ever happened to her and managed to break it in a way that made sure it could never be put back together again.

She was such a _whore_.

She felt like a filthy slut—she slept with Walsh and Jeff and _a lot_ of others to forget about how Killian made her feel; she _used_ them—but she used Killian just as much. She used his feelings for her to make her forget the hole in her own heart.

She winced and choked.

She knew it.

She was incapable of love.

She was too broken and damaged.

The shaking had become uncontrollable, and she shivered in disgust—she was disgusted by Walsh and Jeff and Killian, she was disgusted by her own actions, she was disgusted by who she had become.

She needed to wash it away.

She stumbled to the bathroom, tripping on her way in, her legs no longer able to support her weight. She crawled the rest of the way to the shower, leaning her head back against the shower wall as she raised one arm to turn on the hot water—no cold water added.

It was so hot it burned, but the burn felt good. The burn was a kind of pain that didn’t feel like it was about to destroy her.

She didn’t think anymore.

She didn’t feel.

She just sat under the scalding hot spray and cried, loathing herself for the mistakes she made, loathing herself for ruining the best relationship she had ever had and that she ever would have. She ignored the deep red marks that started to form on her skin, the tears running down her cheeks mixing with the water that cascaded down from the showerhead.

She was filth.

She was stupid, for believing that her life was falling into place, for believing that maybe, she could be loved again.

Emma was overwhelmed by the pain she felt, couldn’t push it back anymore, couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel anything.

So she gave in.

And she cried.

And cried.

Until she had nothing left to cry about—until there was nothing left within her.

She was empty.

And it didn’t hurt anymore.

.

.

.

Killian knocked on the door to Emma and Ruby’s apartment tiredly, rubbing his hand over his eyes again, wondering why the hell he could not to let Emma go. Ruby had called him not even ten minutes ago, telling him he needed to get his stupid, stubborn ass into gear and to their apartment because she was worried about Emma.

Which, in turn, worried him.

Ruby was not one to worry needlessly, and if she thought there was something wrong with Emma, there probably was, and whether or not he was dating her, he _did_ still have strong feelings for her.

“Hey,” Ruby smiled sheepishly as she let him in, “I’m sorry, I know you were probably still with Milah, but—” Killian shook his head (he’d only gone out with Milah because Victor and David had been insisting he get out there again; and since the girl was very eager and had already asked him out twice, he’d just asked her out) and sighed, “Never mind that. I would not have come had I been doing something important.”

He stops dead when he spots Jefferson, one of David’s friends, sitting on the couch, his hair a mess and his clothes rumpled and _fuck_ , he does not want to be here for one of Emma’s many conquests.

“What the hell is this, Ruby?” He turned to glare at her, disregarding her apologetic look.

“She was crying,” Jeff suddenly spoke up, “After we… I tried to talk to her, but she just laid there and I don’t think she even knew she was crying.”

Killian winced at the mental imagery and rubbed his hand over his forehead. “And why would you call me? I am very sorry your skills in the bedroom are so poor they made the lass weep, mate, but I do not see how this is _my_ problem.” He looked up  at Ruby and nearly pleaded, “Ruby, I do not need this right now.”

“I know,” Ruby bit her lip softly and shook her head, “But I… I think she misses you—she didn’t sleep with anyone for days until she heard about you going out with Milah. Look,” she glared at him when he tried to protest—he shut up immediately, he was pissed and hurt, not suicidal; no one interrupted Ruby and got away with it unscathed—, “she’s messed up, Jones. She was hurt and she doesn’t know how to let go of that so she sleeps around so she doesn’t _need_ to worry about getting her feelings hurt. Until she met _you_. That’s why she pushed you so much.”

He knew that—of course he did, he wasn’t stupid, he could read Emma like an open book—but what they had been doing wasn’t healthy, not for either of them, and he _had_ to stop.

He had to stop before she completely shattered him.

“So why am I here?” He finally asked, shaking his head a little.

Ruby sighed and replied, “Because I’m worried. I’ve never seen her like this before. She’s been in the bathroom for almost an hour, and she won’t open the door—Killian, I’m worried about her.” She was pleading with him and he knew it, but he was bloody terrified to go back to the mess of feelings and sex and no dating that was Emma Swan.

“Fine,” he finally grumbled, “Fine. I’ll see if I can get her to talk, but no promises.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jeff and scoffed, “And get him out before Emma sees him.”

Ruby nodded quickly, gesturing towards Emma’s bedroom and the attached bathroom, where he could indeed hear the shower run.

He ignored Ruby and Jeff and moved into Emma’s room, resting his head against the bathroom door as he tried to collect himself, to convince himself to stay strong. He would help her, of course he would, he _loved_ her, but he was not going to allow himself to get sucked back into the unhealthy relationship they had shared.

He wouldn’t.

He loved Emma, and he could see himself be happy with her if she allowed herself to love him too, but he refused to be in the kind of fuck buddy relationship she was intent on having.

He wanted everything.

And he knew that, if Emma would refuse to budge, he needed to cut the cord and move on.

Perhaps that would be with Milah—he did like the lass, she was sweet and vivacious and loved to laugh and he could easily see himself dating her—or with someone else, but he would have to force himself to let go.

He _had_ to.

No matter the hurt and the heartbreak, he would _have_ to let Emma go, for both their sakes.

“Emma?” He knocked on the door, leaning his forehead against the cool wood, “Emma, love, open the door.” He was met with nothing but silence at the other side of the door, the sound of water drops pelting down on the tiled floor unnaturally loud in his ears.

Worry grew like a tight, painful ball in the pit of his stomach as he called out for Emma three more times—his anxiety growing with every bout of silence that met his words—Ruby was right, it wasn’t normal for Emma not to respond at all.

A string of curses fell from his lips as he grabbed a hairpin from Emma’s dresser, where he knew she kept them, and fell to his knees to pick that damn lock—this was not the kind of night he had imagined—even though he hadn’t been all too excited about the date with Milah, he had been having a good time with her, until Ruby called him, and he would be damned if he didn’t get into that sodding bathroom and find out what the hell was going on here.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open.

And he froze.

He stared for a second, his eyes glued to the girl in the shower stall, curled up against the wall, her head resting motionlessly against the cold glass. Her hair stuck to her skin, covering her shoulders and eyes, but not enough to hide the alarming pallor of her pale, nearly luminescent skin.

He stumbled inside instantly, pushing aside his shock and nausea, nearly breaking the faucet in his haste to turn off the freezing water that was cascading down on her.

“Emma?” His voice was broken, no more than a whisper, and it was all he could produce.

He perused her form slowly, almost unable to believe this was the same woman he had held so many times before, the same woman he had spent hours pleasuring, the woman that held his heart in a grasp so tight, he feared he might never get it back.

“Oh my God, Emma,” he breathed, his eyes widening in horror when he took in the burn—which had to have been caused by the water (the temperature was turned up as far as it would go) before it went cold, the angry, red welts that marred her perfect skin. She was shaking, but she didn't respond to him at all, which made the lump in his throat all the harder to swallow.

His medical training finally kicked in when he noted the blue tinge to her lips. He moved quickly, gently pulling her from the shower stall and into his arms, wincing at how cold and wet her skin was.

“Ruby!” He yelled over his shoulder, beyond caring if he scared the her by yelling for her so abruptly, he needed her in here now.

He turned his attention back to Emma, laying her down on the cold tile floor, softly patting her cheeks, hoping that he could somehow wake her, make her explain what was going on.

“Come on, Emma,” he choked, “Wake up.” He found comfort in the fact that, even though she was definitely out of it and not coming to anytime soon, she was still breathing. He ignored how badly he was shaking himself and lifted her in his arms—fighting the dreadful and near-painful urge to sink to his knees and burst into tears—rushing her out of the bathroom, into the bedroom.

“Killian, you really shouldn’t need—” Ruby whined as she moved into the room, freezing on the doorstep, her eyes wide and terrified.

Killian swallowed thickly, concentrating on the steps he’d been taught to take to prevent hypothermia as he carefully laid out Emma on the bed. “Ruby,” he said slowly, forcing himself to sound calm, “Find me a thermometer, please. And warm blankets, as many as you have. Make hot chocolate too, if I can wake her up, she’ll need to drink hot fluids.”

Ruby didn’t respond for a moment, her eyes glued on Emma, who—Killian had to admit—looked like she had tried to drown herself, which had to be a rather disconcerting view for the other girl. He knew that, and yet, he couldn’t find the patience to wait.

Emma couldn’t wait. 

Slowly, Ruby nodded and turned to leave the room, and some of the tension seemed to wash away from Killian, who turned his attention back to an unresponsive, soaking wet Emma. “Oh, love,” he sighed, “What did you do to yourself?”

First, he tore off the clothes she was wearing and then tenderly began to dry her off, dabbing the towel lightly over her inflamed, sensitive skin, wincing every time he saw the long, dark red, angry welts marring her skin.

His sanity hung by a mere thread, and he knew he had to hold it together—if not for Emma then for his own sake—but he was bloody terrified.

He had seen hypothermia before, read about it, studied about it, and knew it could end horribly.

He quickly finished drying her and then dressed her in underwear, a top and sweatpants, and wrapped her up in the softest, warmest blanket he could find, hoping that he wasn’t hurting her anymore by redressing her.

“Emma, darling,” he whispered desperately, rubbing his thumb over her cheek gently, “wake up. Open those beautiful eyes of yours.”

He nodded at Ruby, who appeared in the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed and watery, her arms laden with blankets and a small box he could only hope held a thermometer. “Thank you,” he offered with the most sincere smile he could manage as she set down the blankets on the bed and handed him the thermometer.

“How long was she in there?” he asked Ruby urgently, tossing the box to the floor as moving to take Emma’s temperature.

“I don’t know,” Ruby whispered, “If she got in right after Jeff left her room… Almost an hour. I called you after twenty minutes, when I realized she wouldn’t open the door for me.” Killian nodded, glaring at the device in his hand, mentally willing it to beep, to tell him Emma’s temperature is warm enough—he didn’t want to have to call an ambulance.

Emma hated hospitals.

It beeped.

He took a deep breath and lifted the small thermometer, nearly crying in relief when it reads 37 °C.

100 °F.

She was warm enough.

Thank God.

“I’ll go fix that hot chocolate,” Ruby offered, smiling as she left the room. Killian sighed heavily before kicking off his shoes and pulling off his button-down shirt, leaving him in his jeans and crawled up on the bed with Emma, gingerly and carefully pulling her into his embrace.

 “Wake up, love,” he pleaded again, snuggling her cold form as close to his body as he could, rubbing soft circles over her chest gently, “just wake up.”

“Killian?”

“Emma,” he choked, tightening his arms around her, kissing her head repeatedly, “Oh, thank God.”

“I’m cold,” she slurred, sliding her cold fingers back and forth over his forearm. He nodded and kissed her head again, whispering, “I know, darling, I know. Ruby’s making hot chocolate for you.”

“Don’t leave?” she breathed quietly, tightening her grip on his arm a little, and he can sense she’s about to move, about to panic, so he simply hugs her tighter, pressing yet another kiss to the side of her head.

“Never,” he promised, “I’ll never leave again.” 


End file.
